


home is wherever i'm with you

by muchmoxie



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-25 21:09:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6210211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muchmoxie/pseuds/muchmoxie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It stays like that, with them so close but an ocean away.</i>
</p><p> <i>She almost wants to smile. They’ve always been like that, haven’t they?</i></p><p>(Alternative version of 6x12.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	home is wherever i'm with you

She could have sworn she’d closed it.

But there he is, his thumb on the edge of her open journal, almost like he’s afraid to touch it. Like it’ll turn to ash beneath his fingertips if he dares to.

It could’ve been someone else. She wishes it had been. She could explain it.

Or maybe she wouldn’t have to, because it wouldn’t really matter in the end. She feels a cold sense of resignation in thinking that, but she thinks it nonetheless. 

He doesn’t look at her. She feels grateful for it.

But there’s a hitch in his breathing, and the way he eyes the journal makes her think he really would like to see it burn.

“L.” He nods his head. Swallows. It is only a whisper of a word, just the gravel of him scratching against the softness of that letter, but it sounds more like a scream to her ears.

He knows, now, and the walls feel like they’re closing in.

_I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t do this._

Not him. Anyone but him. She should just bake cookies and smile and wear ridiculous sweaters, and it should work for him because that’s the way it’s supposed to be, the way it _has_ to be now.

She could’ve done that all along. Played her part even with him, and he would’ve dealt with it.

But she would’ve been able to see the denial of it all in his eyes, the look that tells her he knows different. He would’ve known.

She couldn’t do it then, and she can’t do it now.

When he dares to take a peek at her, there’s just sadness and understanding. She feels the tears bubbling up, the ones she didn’t think she could cry anymore. It’s not like they ever helped a damn thing.

It stays like that, with them so close but an ocean away.

She almost wants to smile. They’ve always been like that, haven’t they?

It’s too hard to be around him now, too hard to look at him and see how much he cares, how much he hopes, and she doesn’t know how to tell him that she’s empty.

He wants her to feel everything. She wishes she could.

He takes his hand off the journal and goes to sit beside her on the bed.

She blinks. She thought he’d leave and she could avoid this for at least a little while longer.

He doesn’t seem to have any expectations. He just tilts his head, looks at her, and waits. He’s good at that, with her.

And those eyes… no different than they were in Dale’s old RV.

“ _I’m not fool enough to think there’s any flowers blooming for my brother_.”

She takes a deep, shuddering breath. She closes her eyes. Steadies herself.

“ _But I believe this one bloomed for your little girl.”_

She can’t stop the whimper that escapes her, and her eyes are burning, burning, burning.

“ _She’s gonna really like it in here.”_

She feels a tear, unbidden, stream down her face. Her eyes stay closed, and yet she still sees with perfect clarity – that simple Sweet Water beer bottle with the single pristine flower resting inside it. She’d thought that a heart could only be truly broken once. What a silly, silly thought.

“Carol?” There is a softness there. It’s just her name. But spoken from his lips, it sounds like something beautiful. A warmth spreads throughout her chest – a warmth she didn’t think could ever be brought back. It never seemed possible.

“Hey.” She hadn’t heard him move, but she feels his fingers brush a curl framing her face. He gently buries them in her hair, resting his thumb on her wet cheek. “Open your eyes. Look at me.”

“I can’t.” She leans into his hand without even thinking about it. She couldn’t stop if she tried. 

“Why?” He’s pleading, desperate. It isn’t an accusation, it’s a question.

And she owes it to herself to answer it. She knows that much.

“It hurts.”

Maybe it’s too simple, maybe it doesn’t say enough, but it’s true. It hurts so much that she feels like she can’t breathe most days. She feels too much, and it’s so, so much easier to feel nothing at all.

“Yeah. I know it does.” He pauses. “But you gotta let yourself feel it.”

His hand continues its smooth, soothing rhythm. She says nothing, and she doesn’t open her eyes.

He waits.

“I can’t look at _you_.” Her voice cracks.

“You can. You did what you had to. Wasn’t a choice to make. Tearin’ yourself up about it…”

He takes a deep breath.

“It ain’t right. I wouldn’t look at you any different. You gotta know I-“

He stops himself. Some part of her knows what he was going to say.

But he’s not ready to say it, and she’s not ready to hear it.

Not yet.

“ _Please.”_

A whisper on his lips. One last try.

She waits for her heart to quiet down. This is it. There are no false smiles to hide behind, no more hollow words. There is only them, and this moment, and the blessed relief of reprieve.

Her eyes open.

The ones staring back – filled with so much hope, love, and reassurance – undo her.

But then, they always could.

She doesn’t know how she starts crying against his chest, her sobs so heavy that they almost physically hurt, but the feeling of his hands rubbing her back and his lips pressing to her forehead give her an indescribable sort of peace. Like feeling the sun on your skin for the first time in a long, long while.

He cradles her like she is someone precious, and she takes a moment to start believing it.

“You okay?” he asks, still hugging her.

“Getting there,” she smiles. It is not one she has to force.

Everything about it is raw, and draining, and it hurts as much as she knew it would. But she is different. The emptiness isn’t gone, but it is filling. Slowly but surely.

It feels something like healing.


End file.
